


Stripy Jumpers and Leopards' Spots

by hotchoco195



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, Jim is a bit of a creeper, John is a Saint, M/M, Or not so secret, Presents, Pretending to Be Gay, Secret Admirer, johniarty, until he's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's getting tired of explaining he's not gay, but how do you say no to a psychotic mass-murdering genius?</p><p>Or in which Jim tries to woo John by being clever and sensitive and John has some serious thinking to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“What’s that?” John asked around a mouthful of apple, nodding at the stiff white envelope resting against his laptop.

“No idea, it’s for you.” Sherlock muttered as he scanned the paper for any new cases.

“And you haven’t already opened it. Feeling ill?”

“Ha ha. No, I’ve got better things to do with my day than read your mail.” He sniffed.

“Right.” John raised his brows sceptically, examining the letter.

It was a plain envelope, sort of bigger than normal, his name and address in blue pen on the front and nothing on the back. He slid a thumb under the flap and tore it open, taking out a thin gold piece of card.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked, not really interested.

“An invitation,” John frowned, “Some fancy cocktail do for a politician’s birthday. Why on earth would anyone ask me to that?”

“Maybe they heard your reputation as a lady-killing party animal. No note?”

“Nothing.”

John turned it over in his hands thoughtfully, heading upstairs. He didn’t even know the MP whose party it was, though the name seemed familiar. Maybe Mycroft had mentioned him before - maybe Mycroft had sent the invitation. _Great, more undercover work Sherlock refuses to do?_ John dropped the invite onto his bedside table and his phone buzzed underneath it, the light of the screen flaring out around the card. He opened his messages.

_What do you think John, want to come to the party with me? xx JM_

John recoiled, holding his phone as far away from his body as possible before he realised he was being an idiot.

“Sherlock?” he yelled, pounding down the stairs, “Sherlock!”

“Oh what is it now? Someone send you a parcel?” his flatmate scowled.

John thrust the phone under his nose. “It’s him, it’s Moriarty. He sent it. Why would he do that, Sherlock?”

“Because he wants to have cocktails and talk to boring old men with you?”

“I’m serious, Sherlock, why would Jim Moriarty care about me?”

Holmes flung his paper aside huffily. “He wouldn’t. He’s clearly trying to get to us, probably by making me jealous.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.” John stood, wiping a hand over his brow.

Sherlock smirked. “What’s wrong John, did you worry he wants to make an attack on your virtue?”

John just glared and snatched his phone back, heading upstairs.

 

_If you’re worried about having nothing to wear, I could always get you something chic. Or better yet, you could come in nothing at all. xx JM_

It was the fourth teasing text that day and John grit his teeth, deleting it like the others. He’d left the invite on the table as if he was afraid it might explode now he knew who it was from. Moriarty certainly seemed to be enjoying his joke, and John only hoped he’d lose interest.

Unfortunately he did not. The night of the event Jim sent an almost constant stream of photos from the party.

 _This is my face because you left me here all alone with no one interesting to talk to_ (which was Jim pouting, obviously).

_This is the fabulous drink you could be having if you were here._

_There’s the birthday boy! His hair plugs are a bit of a disaster, aren’t they?_

In effect, even though John refused to attend he might as well have been there. He jammed his pillow down over his ears as it went off _yet again_ sometime after one.

“This is bloody ridiculous.” He swore, rolling over.

The messages stopped around three and didn’t start again. John breathed a sigh of relief and ignored Sherlock’s amusement over breakfast, thinking at least it was friendly photos and not something worse.

*****

He was walking home from Tesco a few days later when he spotted Mycroft’s car parked by the kerb outside 221B.

“Fantastic. No, this is exactly what I wanted today.”

Anthea was leaning against the car and smiled as he approached, not looking up from her phone as she opened the back door. He slid in next to Mycroft grumpily.

“What is it this time?”

“And good afternoon to you too, Dr Watson.”

“Sorry, just – had a bit of a stressful week.”

“I heard. I am here on a similar note.”

“What?” John frowned.

Mycroft reached into his pocket and drew out a silver hatbox tied with white ribbon. He offered it to John but the ex-soldier wouldn’t take it.

“What is it?”

“A gift for you apparently. It came through my department. I had it thoroughly checked over and it was found to be completely harmless, so I thought I’d bring it to you personally.”

“Who is it from?” John asked, already knowing the answer.

“It was signed ‘James’,” Mycroft smiled, “I believe it is a safe guess which James it might be.”

He didn’t want to, but Mycroft was sitting there expectantly and he’d said it wasn’t dangerous, so...

John took the box tentatively and untied the ribbon, lifting off the lid. Inside was a selection of surgical implements, scalpels and the like, arranged so they were fanned out and wrapped in cellophane like a bouquet.

“What the hell is this? A threat?” he looked up.

“Perhaps,” Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the floor, “But you are a doctor, are you not? Perhaps it is Moriarty’s idea of a useful present.”

“Why in God’s name would he send me a present at all?”

The elder Holmes tilted his head. “I don’t know. I was rather hoping you could tell me.”

“He can’t be serious. I mean, he flirts with everyone, right? That’s all part of his persona.”

“But not everyone gets invitations to A-list parties and thoughtful gifts. I would tread carefully, John. Let me know if he tries to contact you again?”

“You don’t _actually_ think Jim Moriarty wants me? Sherlock’s much more his style.”

“How can any of us possibly know what his ‘style’ is?”

John stuck out his lip grimly. “Thanks. You’re very reassuring.”

He climbed out, giving Anthea a nod before heading inside. It wasn’t until he got to the kitchen and put down his shopping John realised he had to do something with the knives. His first instinct was to throw them away, but he stopped. Maybe he should show them to Sherlock – they looked like standard good-quality instruments to him, but there might be some telltale mark that would help locate Moriarty. _But if that were true, Mycroft would already have seen it_. Truthfully they were nice, not something he needed for his day-to-day at the clinic but with Sherlock’s adventures they might come in handy. Refusing to debate the intelligence of keeping a gift from a crazed murderer, he locked them away in his desk drawer next to the first-aid kit and swore he wouldn’t think of them again.

 

He started getting weekly packages, all signed with an artistic, swirly ‘JM’ on the back of the box. It was always the same CD in a blank case with twenty songs and a sticker proclaiming the theme. ‘Childhood’ was stuff John remembered from when he was young at uni, songs he used to play with his mates on hard nights out. ‘Old School’ was full of music John liked now, with a few violin pieces thrown in. ‘Jim’ was sad and spooky and ominous, romantic instrumental tunes that might have been perfect make-out music under different circumstances. He didn’t even try listening to the one marked ‘Sex’.

By all rights John should have just thrown them away or left the packages unopened but Sherlock found them oddly fascinating. He would force John to put them on and lay on the couch, dissecting song and mood choice and occasionally asking why something might be significant. John listened numbly, shocked that Moriarty, _James Moriarty_ , was sending him mix tapes like a love-struck teenage girl – and they were actually good. Each was filled with songs John might have picked himself, his favourites, his preferred genres and artists. It was creepy how well Jim seemed to know him.

“I don’t understand,” he said wearily, “What is he trying to achieve?”

“Why do people usually send each other music, John?”

He wasn’t sure if Sherlock was being rhetorical, but with his lack of dating experience maybe he really didn’t understand the concept.

“I dunno, share stuff you like, make a nice gesture, say you’re thinking about them and know they’ll listen to it thinking about you.”

Sherlock didn’t respond and John groaned, shutting his eyes as he realised what he’d just said.

“Moriarty is trying to woo me.”

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

He stood sharply, ejecting the latest CD and sweeping it into a pile with the rest.

“These are going in the bin, where they belong.”

“If you think it will help.” Sherlock shrugged expressionlessly.

John glared at him, stomping into the kitchen to toss them out and prove he was right, but as he reached the ‘Sex’ disk he paused. John hated to think about it, but Moriarty had been so accurate with everything else, maybe it was worth a listen. He argued with himself over it for a few minutes before deciding Sherlock would be suspicious if he was in the kitchen too long and slipping it into his pocket. Maybe he’d give it a whirl someday.

*****

Then Sherlock got another extra difficult puzzle to solve and John resigned himself to getting by on three hours sleep a night and one meal a day, and to taking a very long holiday from the clinic. It was half past eleven, a gloomy night with almost constant downpours. Lestrade and the police were on standby as John and Sherlock stood in the arch under a bridge, staking out their man.

“We’re sure he’s inside?” John whispered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, we are sure.”

“And we’re going in first because...?”

“There’ll be six different ways out of that house and not enough Yard people to cover them all. We’re forcing him to pick a door and _then_ Lestrade can give chase.”

“Right.”

John drew his gun and checked everything was in order, settling in for a wait. It was another fifteen minutes before one of the lights upstairs went out and Sherlock beckoned him forward, heading into the street.

“What’s the plan?”

“We’re going to knock.”

“What?” John hissed but it was too late. Sherlock was already pounding on the old brass doorknocker.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Sherlock just clasped his hands behind his back and raised his brows. There was an electronic buzz and the door swung inwards.

“After you, John.”

“Thanks a lot.” He muttered, raising his pistol as he pushed it open all the way.

The hall was empty and dark, but there was a light in a room two doors to the left. John cautiously headed towards it, Sherlock closing the door as he followed the doctor in. He rounded the doorway and found a neat lounge room with a couple of armchairs and some old Victorian lamps. A huge, lean brunette with an absolutely cracking moustache sat in one chair inspecting his nails. A silenced gun lay casually in his other hand, pointed at the door.

“Dr Watson and Mr Holmes?”

“Yes.”

“My employer said you might stop by. Have a seat.”

“The game’s up, Demarc.” Sherlock said coldly.

“Maybe, maybe not. Seems to me you’ve got a bullet aimed at your head. So please, sit.”

Sherlock frowned but entered, perching stiffly near the assassin. John hesitated by the door before a flick of Demarc’s head made him move to stand behind Sherlock, his gun still very much drawn.

“There now, isn’t that nicer? Almost like Sunday tea.”

“What are you planning to do now?”

“Take my profits and leave London. Leave England altogether, actually. Maybe Europe too.”

Sherlock’s lip curled back. “Scared of your boss?”

Demarc smiled back. “Some folks pay well, but they’re not the type I associate with if I can help it.”

There was a noise at the front door and Demarc shot up.

“Did you signal for backup?”

“No.” Sherlock said truthfully.

“Stay here.”

He edged towards the hall, gun still on them. They could hear footsteps in the hall now. Demarc hovered by the doorway and quickly peeked around.

“Oh. It’s you.”

He took another step and suddenly a red dot appeared on the side of his head. John nudged the detective.

“Sherlock!”

There was a crack of glass and Demarc’s brains splattered over the wall, his body dropping almost gracefully. Sherlock was already on his feet, moving to the window despite John’s whispered protests.

“Get out of range, you stupid git!”

The footsteps started again and John turned, weapon pointed at the door just in case. Jim Moriarty stepped over Demarc’s corpse and stopped, regarding it.

“He wasn’t very nice, was he? So unappreciative.”

 

John felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He grabbed at the back of Sherlock’s coat, hauling him away from the window as he levelled his sights on Jim.

“Why are you here?” Sherlock asked, “If you wanted Demarc dead you obviously didn’t need to oversee it personally.”

“I heard you were going to be here,” Jim smiled, “And I thought, mightn’t I put in a little effort and reward you with an audience?”

“How considerate of you. I’ll just call in Lestrade then.”

“Good luck Sherly. He’d be dead before you’d finished speaking. Now, please. Sit.”

“The last person who asked us that is dead.” John said snarkily.

“Well I highly doubt my sniper would shoot me. I pay him much too well for that.”

Jim strolled over to Demarc’s empty chair like nothing had happened and sat himself down, crossing his legs. Sherlock made to follow and Jim raised a hand.

“Oh no, Sherly. It’s John I want to talk to.”

“Of course,” the detective clucked his tongue, “How could I forget your schoolboy crush?”

“Feelings are not your forte, Sherlock. Please sit Dr Watson, before I lose my patience.”

He didn’t want to but he really didn’t want to know what Moriarty losing his patience looked like. John sat in the chair opposite, never lowering his gun.

“Oh put that away! We’re never going to get anywhere if you persist in being so defensive.”

“Forgive me for thinking I need to protect myself from you, but I just saw you have a man killed for no reason.”

“Okay, how about this argument – if you shoot me, Sherlock will get a round in his gorgeous curly head before my body hits the ground.”

That sounded more than plausible and John reluctantly let his gun fall until it rested in his lap.

“Better. Did you like my presents, Johnny?”

He clenched his jaw. “They were very...personal, I suppose.”

“Did it weird you out a bit? Sorry, sometimes I just can’t help myself.” He said, eyes twinkling completely unapologetically.

“Listen, I uh, I’m flattered but I’m not sure what you think is going to happen here. I’m not gay.”

Jim flapped a hand at the same time as Sherlock gave a derisive tut.

“I’m not!” John said indignantly.

“As if that matters for the right person, Johnny.”

“And you think you’re the right person?” Sherlock scoffed.

“For him, yes,” Jim raised his eyes to the brunette, “Opposites attract, Sherly.”

“Not in this case, I don’t think.” John shook his head.

“Consider it. Sherly and I seem like the perfect couple, right? Both smart, both stylish, both hopelessly amoral. But that’s the problem – we’re too alike. Well, that and the poker up his arse.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t comment.

“You John, you know how to have fun. You have values, strong ones. Where’s the fun in corrupting Sherlock compared to making you give up everything you’ve ever believed? He’s already curious. You’re a challenge. And a cute one at that.”

 

John felt like there was an actual frog in his throat making it hard to breathe, hard to keep making eye contact with that villainous smirk.

“If I was going to be with a man, it sure as hell wouldn’t be you. You’re a killer. You’re a lunatic. You want my best friend dead and you could never, ever be trusted.”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you the crazy ones are always better in bed?”

“Sherlock, call Lestrade.”

“You don’t want to do that Johnny.” Jim sounded almost disappointed.

“Sherlock, now!”

“Don’t be stupid John, we’d be dead in a moment and then Lestrade would be shot to cover Jim’s escape.”

“Alright.” John fumed.

He lunged onto his knees, keeping his head down and protected by the angle as he brought his gun up. He glared at Moriarty, registering the slightest hint of shock on his face and then its replacement with...excitement?

“Oh John, I can’t tell you how good you look at my feet.”

“Call Lestrade.”

“Don’t be tiresome, we’ve already established I’m walking out of here a free man.”

“Not if I shoot you.”

“Are you going to, Johnny?” he asked, totally sincere.

“I should.”

“But you won’t because I’m the bad guy, not you.”

He darted down, faster than John had expected, wrapping one hand around the gun and the other around John’s neck as he laid a kiss on the doctor’s brow.

“Give me a call sometime.”

Jim straightened and strode out whistling, hands in his pockets. John reeled, gun dropping to the floor with a thud as he clutched at his knees. Sherlock was beside him in a second.

“You’re fine, breathe. He’s gone, we’ll get out of here and send in Lestrade. Breathe John!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just...wasn’t expecting that.”

He leaned back against the armchair and rested his neck on the edge of the cushion. He closed his eyes and vaguely heard Sherlock calling in the detective inspector, mind still fixed on that snake-like strike and the warm lips pressed to his head like a bullet.

*****

He met Mycroft downstairs at Speedy’s, shaking the rain off his jacket as he sat.

“Hello John. My little brother getting himself into trouble again?”

“Never out of it. No, this is about Moriarty.”

“Oh? He’s been in further contact with you?”

John gave him a withering glare. “You know he has. You know everything!”

“Fine. What do you need from me?”

“I dunno. How about arresting him, for a start?”

“On what charges?”

“Stalking, maybe? Harassment.”

Mycroft laughed. “You are aware how useless that would be?”

John rubbed his face with his hands. “I know. I just...I don’t know what to do here, alright? I thought you’d be more help than Sherlock, since he finds the whole thing bloody hilarious.”

The waitress came over with Mycroft’s tea , John’s coffee, and two plates. The one with a thick slab of chocolate cake she placed in front of Mycroft; the other went to John. He stared at the apple pie dumbstruck as Mycroft scowled.

“We didn’t order these.” His fingers twitched.

“Compliments of a gentleman, sir. He gave me a note for you.” She reached into her apron and handed Mycroft a card before going back to the kitchen.

“What is it?” John said quietly.

“Dear John, a little of what you fancy does you good – even if it’s very, very bad. You should tell Mycroft not to be so strict about his diet. xx Jim.”

He folded the note precisely, scoring the lines deliberately. “Well. It seems he’s formed quite an attachment to you, Dr Watson. Perhaps now might be the time for protective custody.”

“No, no, I’m not getting locked up somewhere when he’s the criminal.”

“Very well. Then I advise you take a holiday until his attention wavers.”

John looked at the pie suspiciously, unsure how safe it was. But the people at Speedy’s knew him, liked him even, so he figured they wouldn’t serve him tainted dessert. He tucked in, not even thinking how it would look to Mycroft – who was pointedly ignoring his own cake. John stifled a giggle at the way he sat so stiffly, not even touching his tea, as if bringing his hands too close to the fork would make him lose control. _A little of what you fancy_...

“I can’t go away. He’ll just find me again, and then I’ll be out in the open somewhere like easy pickings.”

“Alright. Then may I make a suggestion you could consider tasteless?”

John raised a brow. “Don’t you always?”

“Go out with him.”

“What? Mycroft!”

“Think about it. You can get close to him, maybe get some information, and surely he’ll calm down a bit once he gets what he wants.”

“You want me to sleep with a dangerous criminal for the greater good.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to have sex. Play hard to get for a few weeks.”

“And risk him killing me for being a tease? I don’t think so.” He crammed in another few spoonfuls of pie.

“Well what is your plan, John? Ignoring him only makes you more of a challenge. Maybe if you make it easier he’ll give up and go away.”

John sighed. “Do you honestly think I’ll learn anything useful?”

“Who knows? Moriarty likes to show off. He might give you the keys to his kingdom for fun.”

John rolled his tongue over his teeth, the sweetness still stuck to them. “Fine.”

 

The bar made him feel old. Everyone there looked about twenty, in various concoctions of shiny sequin and pleather, the walls sharp and angular and the ceiling mirrored in a disorientating haze of shadow and light. He stood in the door for a moment feeling like a total outsider in his jeans before a pretty blonde waitress approached him.

“Excuse me, Dr Watson?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“This way please.”

He followed her to the bar and she headed for a door just on the other side of the counter. He stopped uncertainly but she waved him through.

“Your other party is already inside.”

“Great.”

He headed through the door and up some very steep stairs to a second door. The waitress knocked and Jim’s voice called.

“Enter!”

She hurried off, leaving John to open the door himself. _You can do this. You share a flat with Sherlock Holmes, you can do anything_.

It was nothing like the downstairs. The office was classic Victorian, rich wood and suede chairs, even down to the animal skeletons under glass. It sort of reminded him of a tidier Baker St, and he wondered if that was on purpose. Jim lolled over a couch by the door.

“Like it?”

“Jesus, for a second I thought downstairs was more your thing.”

“God no! But I own the place so it seemed convenient.”

“You own it?”

“Well Eugene Corbin owns it, and I own Eugene Corbin, so here we are in style.”

“Right.”

“Drink?”

“Uh, thanks.”

Jim poured two Scotches from a decanter and patted the seat beside him.

“So, Johnny. You finally changed your mind? Want a taste of the forbidden fruit?”

“No,” he sat and took his glass, “Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“The fuss?”

“This – whatever it is. I don’t care what game you’re playing with Sherlock, leave me out of it.”

“Oh silly, this isn’t about him and you know it. If I wanted to upset him there’s a hundred different ways. I mean, it’s not like he’s jealous. He doesn’t think of you that way.”

“And you do?”

Jim sighed. “Constantly.”

 

“Well I guess I should be flattered then.”

“Indeed. You ever think about me like that?”

“Not really.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire. It crossed your mind – of course it did. You thought ‘Jim wants to have sex with me’ and then for a second you wondered what it would be like.”

“No.” John smiled and shook his head.

“Yes,” It was a hiss as Jim leaned closer, “Didn’t you wonder after our last meeting? What it would be like to give yourself over to me? The things I could show you about yourself?”

“I don’t need a crash course in supervillainy, thanks very much. You always this intense on the first date?”

Jim sat back. “A first date is just an interview of sorts. But then I already know so much about you anyway.”

“I know nothing about you. How ‘bout we start there?”

He laughed. “Johnny, I’m not going to start pouring out my secrets for you. Pick something more abstract.”

“Alright. How do you feel about the Queen?”

“Love her! She’s so wonderfully business-like about things. Very sensible. A good question from Mr Serve-His-Country, ask another.”

John looked around for inspiration. “Do you prefer sweet or savoury?”

“Sweet, obviously.”

“Not everyone does.” John pouted at the hint of disdain in Jim’s reply.

“All intelligent people know sweet is better. Like you and your apple pie.”

“How did you know about that, by the way?” the doctor shifted in his seat with interest.

“A lucky guess.”

John mulled that over for a second. “Liar.”

Jim tilted his head with a smirk. “Can’t give away all my tricks yet. Did you know apple’s my favourite pie too?”

 

They had a couple more drinks, Jim always pouring in some sort of strange chivalrous declaration that was less to do with control and more to do with manners, and John kept up his questions. He doubted he’d come away with anything of use, but he was having a nice enough time all things considered.

“So Johnny, want to go downstairs and dance?” The slight quirk to his smile was almost attractive, but John steeled himself. _He strapped a bomb to your chest for God’s sake. Stay on task!_

“Uh, with that lot? I’ll pass.”

“I don’t blame you. Oh well, what could we possibly do instead?”

The criminal looked around innocently, mock-thoughtful. He took John’s drink and laid both glasses on the table. _Uh oh. Right, date_. Jim slid closer and John stiffened without thinking.

“Oh Johnny. Still afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?”

“It’s not that, it’s just...I’ve never, you know, with a man before.”

He cringed, half-expecting to be laughed at or teased or scolded, but Jim just shrugged.

“Very well. Would you like another drink?”

“You’re not upset?” he frowned.

“I’m not going to rush you Johnny. What am I, some kind of monster?”

He decided to let that one go. “It’s a bit late. Even Sherlock will have noticed I’m not home by now.”

“You didn’t tell him where you were going?” Jim asked, sounding intrigued.

“No. I didn’t think it was his business.”

 “You’re right, nothing to do with him. Let me drop you home.”

“I’ll be alright, I can just get a cab-”

“Nonsense, I insist. Can’t have you being stolen away, can I?”

John considered refusing for a second. His intense feeling that he shouldn’t get into a car with Moriarty was mildly balanced out by spending hours with the man and not being dead yet. Maybe a ride home would be okay.

“Sure.”

Jim led him down a second staircase that went into the alley behind the bar. A car was waiting by the loading dock and he opened the door for John, who felt ridiculous as he slid in.

“221B.” Jim barked and the driver reversed out into the road.

They were mostly quiet for the trip, each lost in some contemplation of the dark London streets flashing past. They pulled up at the corner of Baker Street and Jim looked over conspiratorially.

“I’ll let you out here. Don’t want to make Sherly suspicious, do we?”

John stifled a laugh. Jim had a twinkle in his eye that was wicked but not scary-evil-Jim, and it was sort of nice.

“I had a good time.” He blurted.

“Despite your expectations?” Jim smiled wryly.

“I guess. Would you like to, I dunno, do it again?”

“Is this how you woo all those girls, John Watson? Does the bumbling adorable thing work on them?”

“I’m a bit out of my element with you.” John admitted.

“Fair enough. Alright, second date. You pick this time.”

“I’ll call you. Uh, thanks for the lift.”

Jim leaned forward very slowly and pressed his lips to John’s for a second, pulling back quickly to catch his look of surprise.

“Goodnight, Dr Watson.”

“Uh, yeah, goodnight.”

He climbed out of the car and walked towards the flat, barely noticing as the car drove past. He was too busy thinking about that kiss, short and sweet like a nervous schoolboy’s. It hadn’t been... _bad_. It was just an ordinary, unremarkable kiss. _Huh. Who knew Jim Moriarty could be romantic?_

*****

For their second outing John wanted to pick somewhere he was familiar with. He still didn’t trust Moriarty not to be lulling him into a false sense of security so he could suddenly spring a trap. He chose a restaurant near Bart’s he used to love when he was a student, knowing the layout of the streets around it was permanently burned into his brain. It was a little Vietnamese place that served incredibly cheap beer and hot soups, and since it was always crowded John figured they could have a decent conversation without being overheard.

He took his seat at their table by the far wall and tried to relax, but he couldn’t help checking the door every few seconds. _For God sakes, you’re acting like this is a real date!_ He chided himself. Maybe Jim’s barb about his way with the ladies had stung more than he’d thought but he felt a strange need to impress Jim, to prove himself. _You can do this, John. Easy as pie. Just keep him entertained and be accessible. He’ll get bored of this whole thing soon enough_.

Jim walked in looking cool in a short-sleeved polo shirt and jeans, way more casual than John had expected. He spotted the doctor and headed over, grinning as John scrambled up to pull out his chair.

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself, hot stuff. I love this.” Jim flicked the black collar of his shirt before sitting.

John hid a smile. _Knew it was the right shirt_. “Thanks. You hungry?”

“Starving! I haven’t had a second to myself all day.” Jim picked up the menu with a ghastly scowl.

“World domination tiring you out?”

Jim shot him a cheeky wink. “No rest for the wicked, isn’t that what they say?”

“The sour prawn here’s really good.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

“I used to, back when I was studying at the hospital. It’s cheap and it’s open late so it was good for all-nighters in the library.”

“I can just imagine how cute you were, bent over your books.” Jim purred.

“I’m glad it’s over. Too many sleepless nights and headaches.”

“And you don’t get those trailing after Sherlock?” he pointed out, “You could get a job in a hospital easily. Why work at that boring clinic?”

John shrugged. “Dunno. I was supposed to be readjusting to civilian life. You know, de-stressing.”

“I can see how well it’s working, running around with your gun in your waistband. I don’t think you were meant to be domesticated.”

“Are you always this intense on a second date?”

“Not many people make it that far.”

“Right.”

 

Their third date was a rooftop showing of an old school Bond marathon (Jim’s choice, surprisingly). It was a warm enough night but John couldn’t suppress a shiver as Jim’s shoulder brushed against his, and the criminal smiled. His hand crept over and entwined itself with John’s, and the doctor let it. It wasn’t unpleasant; it was sort of nice to be out in the summery air watching a good movie with a friendly hand warm in his. The fact that it was Jim’s hand didn’t even bother him as much as it should have.

“Shall we get dessert?” Jim asked as the last credits rolled.

“Know any place near here that does apple pie?” John smirked.

“I think I might.”

They strolled leisurely along, John letting Jim lead without worrying too much about it.

“It’s sort of strange, the way you blend in with everybody else. You never think it’s too dangerous?”

“For them or me?” Jim laughed until John nudged him.

“It’s not dangerous, Johnny. There are very few people I do business with who know what I look like, and for my meetings with them I always bring backup. But walking around with the normal people? No one expects me to, so they’re not looking for me.”

He walked a step closer. “Besides, I’ve got you here, don’t I?”

John could feel himself blushing but luckily they’d reached a cafe and Jim held the door open for him without noticing (he hoped). He picked a table by the kitchen and sat, letting Jim take the seat closer to the wall out of long practice dining out with Sherlock. It was always smarter to give the genius with the short attention span the better vantage point.

“I’ll be right back.”

Jim went up to the counter to order and John checked his watch. It wasn’t too late yet, but he’d probably still have to head home after this. God knows what Sherlock had planned for tomorrow. His phone beeped and he shot a look over his shoulder, but the criminal was leaning on the bench talking to a waitress.

_How are you getting on? Mycroft Holmes_

John huffed before replying. _When I have something to tell you, I’ll let you know. He’s not stupid_.

 _Oh well, persevere John. Mycroft Holmes_.

Truthfully he knew a lot about Jim and none of it was helpful. He knew his favourite foods and music and movies and books but nothing that hinted at who he was or where he came from, not really. John’s undercover thing looked like a bit of a bust. He put the phone away just as Jim sat down.

“Do you think I should tell Sherlock about this? I mean, he’s going to notice eventually.”

“I don’t know. How would you classify _this_?”

“Dating his archenemy – yeah, he’ll love that.”

“ _Are_ we dating? I was rather under the impression you were doing this for the Iceman’s benefit.”

 

John stiffened, his mouth ajar, but Jim shrugged.

“I am not an idiot, John. I tried to kill you and your beloved Sherlock; why would you agree to any kind of intimate relationship with me?”

“I’m, uh, sorry. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do.”

“Don’t apologise. I’ve enjoyed your company.”

John looked away. “For what it’s worth I’ve had fun too.”

“But your morals prevent you from falling for the antihero. Too bad, it was just getting interesting.”

John wasn’t sure what that meant. _Is this it? He’s going to kill me now? Or maybe he really is just breaking it off?_ They waited in awkward silence while the waitress placed their dessert on the table until John couldn’t take it anymore. He cleared his throat.

“What now?”

“Now we finish our pie and I’ll take you home.” Jim smiled.

“That’s it?”

“Were you expecting some kind of retribution? No, I’m not some poor heartbroken girl. I’m not going to have a tantrum.”

John twitched his nose. “Uh, thanks.”

“There is something you can do for me.”

 _And here’s the catch_. “What?”

“Give me a proper kiss.”

“You want a kiss?”

“Yep.” He popped his lips.

“I’m still not gay.”

“And I still don’t see that it matters.”

He took a deep breath and looked away. “One kiss, yeah?”

“One proper kiss, yes. Then we can go our separate ways full of bittersweet regret.” He raised a hand to his brow in true Southern belle style.

John was still wary of Jim supposedly being okay with his attempted espionage, but they were in a cafe with staff and customers. There was probably no harm in giving him his kiss – what was he going to do? If he wanted to hurt or drug John Jim could have done it any time they were alone. He shuffled his chair around the corner of the table, leaned across the distance and kissed him.

 

Jim’s reaction was quick and a bit frightening until John understood what the other man was doing. He fisted his hands in John’s jumper and pulled the doctor close. John’s arms shot around him for balance and Moriarty wriggled into the embrace, his lips insistent on John’s as his tongue demanded entrance.

Until this point John had been a little off his game. Unsure what Jim wanted, surprised by the lunge, John had sort of let Jim control the kiss. Now he fought back, wrestling Moriarty’s mouth open and sweeping his tongue in. Jim tried to gain the upper hand again but John wouldn’t give an inch, determined to battle it out. Then it hit him. _What are you doing? You’re snogging James Moriarty!_ He pulled back suddenly, gasping for breath.

Jim smiled like a cat without curiosity. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 _God help me, it wasn’t_. “Apart from when you almost knocked me off my chair?”

“Sorry – couldn’t help myself.”

John leaned back to get some space, even if Jim’s stare was still very much pressing on him. He could feel the warmth of the Irishman’s lips on his. He picked up his fork and focused on his pie. _It was just a kiss. A good kiss, yeah, but a kiss is nothing. He hasn’t won anything from you. Then why do I feel so exposed all of a sudden?_

He ate quickly, hoping to get away before Jim changed his mind about letting him go. The criminal ate as if he was totally alone, ignoring John with a dreamy look on his face.

“So I guess I’ll see you around some time.”

“If you continue to live with Sherlock, we’re bound to run into each other eventually. Let me give you a ride home.”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”

“Fine,” Jim held up his hands, “I get it. It’s been fun, Dr Watson.”

John nodded with a small frown. He wandered out, looking back at the door, but Jim was still eating like no one else existed.

 

Being only eleven Sherlock was still swaddled on the couch in his blanket but he looked up as John came in. His flatmate’s eyes narrowed.

“Short date.”

“I wasn’t on a date.”

“Wrong. It was the latest in a series of meetings romantic and potentially sexual in nature between you and Moriarty. You thought I hadn’t noticed he’d stopped sending you things and you’d started going out more?”

“Honestly, I didn’t,” John sighed as he sat in his chair and picked up a book. “It’s not like that, Sherlock. Mycroft told me if I made it too easy he would get bored and move on.”

“And?”

“And I think he has. I’m not seeing him again.”

Sherlock scoffed and flounced up, blanket around him like a cloak. It was _almost_ not completely ridiculous.

“Please. Is he the sort of person who just gives up? He hasn’t gotten what he wants from you yet.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know, but a few lacklustre dates wasn’t it.”

“Laacklustre? How would you know?”

“Have you slept with him then?”

“No!”

“Then _lacklustre_.”

“Right, I’m gonna watch TV, so if you want to think it over do it quietly.”

He switched on a Connie Prince rerun and drowned out his flatmate’s muttering. _Not gotten what he wants yet? But he never pushed for...more than kissing_. _Even today he didn’t ask for it_. That line of thought turned into what Moriarty had asked for, and the odd but not unpleasant feelings that went with it. _You don’t like Moriarty...I mean he’s evil. And a bloke_. _Not your usual type at all_. But Jim was clever, and he supposed handsome in a way. He was fun. They had gotten along well enough on those ‘dates’. _No chance_. He grabbed the remote and looked for something distracting, Jim’s stare hovering at the front of his mind.

*****

John fell asleep during an old western, head dropping back against his chair. His dreams were full of wicked Moriartys, the criminal trailing his teeth along John’s skin and smiling. Jim’s soft words tore at his ears, dragging John further into the depths of his eyes. In his dreams he was powerless to stop it as Jim pounded into him, his laugh sinister and twisting as the doctor begged for more. John came awake with a jerk and almost had a heart attack.

“Sherlock! Bloody hell, why are you watching me sleep?”

The detective hovered in front of his face. “You were making noises. I was concerned.”

John shuddered to think what he might have been saying, standing abruptly.

“I think I’ll put the kettle on.” He stepped towards the kitchen.

“I dislike this.”

John turned and gripped the back of his chair as Sherlock started pacing.

“This is intolerable. This distraction from the game.”

“Really? A month ago you were making me listen to his CDs.”

“I don’t understand it, why would he care about you? Why would he spend so much time on someone ordinary?”

“Thanks, mate. I dunno, why do you waste time on me?”

“You are not a waste of my time, you assist me.” Sherlock waved a hand dismissively as he leaned on the mantel.

John bit his tongue. “Is it so hard to believe he actually likes me?”

“Yes.”

“People find me attractive, you know!”

“I’ve heard.”

“So why shouldn’t Jim?”

“He’s not a person, John, he doesn’t have emotions and people he likes and people he fancies! He’s only the work, like me.”

“Really? Because what is he achieving, flirting with me like this? He hasn’t stopped you working. It hasn’t hurt your cases or made me too distracted to _assist you_. So what could he possibly be trying to get out of it if not me?”

“Don’t be a fool. He’s manipulating you, probably so he can get closer to me.”

“It’s always you, isn’t it? Always.”

“I’m the only one I can count on, so yes John, it is always me!”

John stalked towards the stairs and Sherlock looked over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

“Why do you care – I’m a fool, right?”

He didn’t let Sherlock try to explain, just grabbed his jacket from his room. He wasn’t sure where he was going but he needed to get out of the flat before he strangled the detective, and as he pounded angrily down the sidewalk he realised there was only one person who would understand exactly how much of a prat Sherlock was. _Don’t be an idiot. You’re cross, but that’s no reason to risk your life on some stupid, petty argument. Right?_

 

As he got out of the cab John’s nerves hummed but his limbs were steady; the side effects of serving in a war zone. Jim’s car was just pulling up outside the grand old Georgian building, just one in a row of houses converted in swanky office blocks. The criminal stepped out onto the kerb and smiled.

“I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Look, I’m sorry if I dragged you away from anything. It was stupid to message you really, I just...I dunno.”

“Come inside before we freeze.”

Jim pulled out a bulging key ring and opened the front door. John frowned.

Moriarty smiled. “You were expecting biometric locks and pin codes? Normally yes, but this isn’t one of mine. I just own it for the night.”

There was something in his voice when he spoke about owning things, and he was giving John an almost smouldering look. The blond gulped quietly.

They entered the lobby. There was a sign on the wall behind the receptionist’s desk for a law firm John didn’t know.

“One of your clients?”

“On occasion.” Jim headed for the stairs.

They went up to the top floor, passing levels of open plan cubicles until they came to one with nothing but closed offices and meeting rooms. Jim led him to a door with ‘Mark Hardlow, Senior Partner’ and opened it with another key, flicking the lights on. The office was very modern glass and chrome, sort of cold and hard. It looked bigger than the others they’d passed and half was turned over to a pair of armchairs and a couch around a coffee table. Jim sneered at the art hanging above the desk.

“Impressionism. What a waste of perfectly good wall space.”

He took off his coat and threw it over the desk, heading for a row of long cupboards along the other wall. He pulled out a couple of glasses and set them on the counter.

“What are you in the mood for?”

John thought about how stupid this whole situation was and threw caution to the wind.

“Sherlock seems to think you haven’t got what you wanted from me yet. Only he thinks you want something nefarious, as opposed to believing you might just like me.”

“Aw, Daddy Holmes doesn’t appreciate you. He’s greatly underestimating your appeal, by the way.”

“So you do just want me? And not to get closer to Sherlock, or, or, trip him up or blackmail him or something?”

“I could do those things without your help. Besides, he expects that, so why would I do it?”

John frowned and Jim sighed. He crossed back until he was standing almost pressed against the otherman.

“Johnny, I promise you I’m 100% sincere about this. I’m only interested in you for you.”

“Why?”

“The same reasons I told you before. We’re opposites. Angels and devils, yin and yang, that sort of thing. Can you imagine what it could be like together? Perfectly matching each other and perfectly opposed? It would be a beautiful kind of chaos, I think.”

“It’s not possible.”

“Why? Because we’re on different sides? That just makes it sexier if you ask me. But you could always try to tempt me back to the straight and narrow.”

 

_Stop listening to him. You can’t change him for the better, so this is only going to end in him changing you for the worse. It’s already happening – you’re thinking about betraying your best friend._

“Sherlock would lose his mind.”

“Oh fuck Sherlock. He’s never exactly been an asset to your love life, has he? Driving girls away so he doesn’t have to share, crashing your dates – he’s a regular pest.”

John snorted in agreement. Jim hovered closer, face by John’s ear. The touch of his breath on John’s neck was warm but it made him shiver.

“Why should my game with him interfere with us? We can do as we please when I’m off the clock.”

“I can’t. You arrange horrible, heinous crimes for a living – for fun. By rights I should have turned you over to the police already.”

“I can own the police as easily as I do everything else, Johnny. So tell me again why this can’t work?”

His voice was teasing, his face so close to John’s. He was looking at the doctor like he wanted to eat him and it wasn’t helping John’s doubts, though it was sort of hot. _You came here for a reason, Johnny. You wanted to be seduced by the Devil_.

“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?”

“Not quite like that, no.”

“What a crime.”

John giggled. “Coming from you, that’s pretty rich.”

His eyes met Jim’s and the dark pools sucked all the humour out of the air. He wanted Jim. He _wanted_ Jim.

“Christ.” He whispered.

Something clicked between them and slow went out the window. He flung himself against Jim, pushing the smaller man against the wall as he kissed him, fingers running down Jim’s chest. The criminal wrapped himself around John like a climbing plant.

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever had.” He muttered in between kisses.

Jim smiled. “Then it’s guaranteed to be the most fun.”


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was just coming up as John stepped outside. He shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, breath fogging up in front of him.

“Let me give you a ride home.” Jim drawled, overemphasising ‘ride’ in ways that made John want to blush until his whole body turned red.

“Uh no, thanks. I think I’m going to walk.”

“Alright, suit yourself.”

“Will I see you again?” he asked almost nervously.

“I rather think that depends on you, Johnny.”

He smiled, ducking his head. “Did you want to have dinner tonight?”

“I’d love it.”

Jim kissed him, fingers of one hand curling around John’s jaw tenderly for a moment before he broke away. A black car pulled up and he opened the door, looking back.

“Oh and Johnny? I don’t suppose you can technically plead ‘not gay’ anymore.”

He gave a little wave and closed the door. John stood and watched until it was out of sight, then leaned back against the wall heavily and exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“John Watson. You stupid bastard.”

He laughed and struck out towards the clinic.

 

It wasn’t that he was afraid to go home and face Sherlock – really. He was a grown man and could make his own decisions. It wasn’t that he was worried Mycroft would step in and accuse him of being emotionally compromised. He was and he knew it, but it wasn’t the reason he went straight to the clinic and sat on the front step until Sarah showed up and then begged her for an extra shift. John didn’t go back to Baker Street because he needed just a few hours, just half a day, of normality.

Between patients he sat at his desk, staring straight ahead at nothing. _You had sex with James Moriarty. A man. A man who regularly breaks the law and kills people, and it was fucking fantastic_. It turned over and over in his mind as he took temperatures and checked blood pressures, and he would randomly smile at some remembered glimpse of the night before – something not entirely appreciated by his more serious cases. But finally it reached five o’clock and Sarah stuck her head in.

“Time to go home, John.”

He looked up, resigned. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

 

Sherlock wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen. John contemplated just going up to his room to get ready for his date with Jim, but the dutiful soldier in him told him he was just prolonging the inevitable. With a sigh that could have flattened a straw house he knocked on Sherlock’s closed door.

“I already said I didn’t want tea.”

“Sherlock, it’s me.”

There was no response so he pushed the door open cautiously. Sherlock was sitting cross-legged on his bed in his usual suit, shoes off, fingers knit together under his chin. He gave John a cursory glance and snorted.

“So.”

“So.”

“How was he?”

_Magnificent. Brilliant. Totally altered how I think about myself and made it so I’ll never be able to hear the word sex again without thinking of him._

“Good.”

“Good?” Sherlock echoed sceptically.

“Great.”

“You’re seeing him again.”

“Yes.”

They were silent for a moment. John tried desperately to read his flatmate’s face but as usual there was nothing there.

“John, I am sorry if I made you feel…unappreciated. I greatly value your opinion.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re not a fool. I mean, you slept with Moriarty so yes, you’re a fool, but you’re not-”

“Alright, Sherlock. I get it. I’m sorry we fought.”

The detective didn’t say anything. John cleared his throat.

“Are you going to say anything?”

“About?”

“Well, you know. Me and Jim.”

“Would it be useful?”

“No, not really.”

“Then I’ll save myself the effort.”

John twitched his nose, watching for a moment longer in case Sherlock felt like explaining what he was doing.

“I’ll uh, I’ll be upstairs then.”

 

_Outside. xx Jim_

John straightened his sleeves and grabbed his jacket, running downstairs.

“See you later!” he called on the off chance Sherlock noticed he was out.

He bounded out onto the street and smiled at the familiar black car waiting at the kerb. But when he opened the door there was no one inside.

“Where’s Jim?” he shot the driver a confused glance.

“Mr Moriarty is delayed, but he asked me to drop you at the restaurant.”

John frowned. _Be realistic. He’s not going to kidnap you now. And he has a busy job, all hours, that sort of thing. I’m sure it’s just his way of being thoughtful._

“Alright.” He climbed in.

They sped through London to the South Bank, to a strip of bars and restaurants and hotels that John was severely underdressed for. The car stopped and he looked around nervously.

“Uh…”

The door opened and a short, efficient looking dark-haired man stuck his head in. “Dr Watson?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Berry. Mr Moriarty sent me to see that you’re looked after.”

“Well, that was…nice of him.”

“If you’ll just step this way?”

John looked at the driver but everything seemed kosher. He followed Berry into a hotel lobby that looked like a Hollywood set, all gleaming marble and classic columns. They stepped into the gold-plated lift and rode silently up to the top floor. Berry had a keycard; he opened the suite and waved John through.

“There’s a change of clothes on the bed. When you’re ready, the reservation is at the restaurant downstairs under the name ‘Holmes’.”

John quirked a smile at Jim’s odd sense of humour. “Uh, thank you very much.”

“My pleasure, Dr Watson.”

Berry bowed himself out, leaving John to gape at the splendour of the suite. It was understated, elegant and undoubtedly cost more per night than he made in a month. He walked through to the bedroom, and after taking a minute to process the size of the bed and the associated imaginative thoughts it inspired, noticed the pressed tuxedo laid out carefully on the covers. _Certainly living the high life now_ , he laughed to himself in disbelief as he started undressing.

 

He’d been at the table about ten minutes when Jim walked in. The genius spotted him immediately and waved off the attentive waiter trying to seat him, striding over with that little smirk that made John made to kiss it right off his face. The fact that he was in a tux too didn’t hurt either.

“Evening.” He kissed John’s cheek, sitting back.

The doctor blushed. “Hello.”

“I trust Berry made you comfortable?”

“Yes, yes, he was very thorough.”

“Normally I’d have been here to do it myself, but you know how it is in this line of work. Nothing ever goes according to plan.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“Shall we order some wine to start?”

“Maybe something stronger.” John suggested.

Jim raised a brow over his menu. “Sherly didn’t take it well then.”

“Oh no, he was fine. Barely said a word. I just thought a place like this would have the top shelf stuff. Seemed a shame to waste the opportunity.”

“Johnny, there’ll be plenty more opportunities.” Jim winked but waved over a waiter.

“Sir?”

“The best Scotch in the house here for my dear John, three fingers neat, and a Brandy Alexander.”

The waiter nodded smoothly and hurried off.

“So, how was your day?”

John almost laughed at the commonness of the question. “Alright. Lots of blood noses and measles.”

“Sounds riveting.”

He decided to test his luck. “And yours?”

“Oh you know, sabotaged the Burmese elections, caused a twelve-point dip in the NASDAQ, the usual.”

John knit his brows. “Is any of that true?”

“All of it, darling. Why would you even ask?”

“Well I’m not used to you answering the questions I really want you to.”

Jim smiled enigmatically. “All part of the package, Johnny. Communication, trust, those old chestnuts.”

“Huh.” John tilted his head.

“Surprised?”

“A little.”

“Get used to it.”

*****

“Haven’t seen much of you lately, dear. Been busy at the clinic?” Mrs Hudson asked, gathering up her duster and cloths.

“He’s got a new boyfriend.” Sherlock muttered, not looking away from the bookcase as he searched for some obscure text.

“Really? That’s nice.”

“Uh, thanks.” John gave her a half-smile.

“Isn’t it?” Sherlock said, “Our conquering hero has a masochistic streak.”

“A what?” she looked startled.

“I thought it didn’t bother you.” John stuck out his bottom lip with frustration.

Sherlock’s voice was flat, uninterested. “It doesn’t.”

“Well I think it’s lovely.” Mrs Hudson patted his arm.

“Thank you.” John nodded.

“Will I get to meet him?”

Sherlock chuckled under his breath and John shot him a look, shifting in the chair.

“Maybe.”

 

The first time John had serious doubts about his new lover was no gentle reminder or offhand remark. They were on Jim’s couch watching a movie without really watching it, Jim threading his fingers through John’s hair affectionately. The door opened and Moriarty’s head pricked up.

“Boss-”

“Sebastian, I told you not to bother me here.” It was his business voice, no trace of the warmth or charm he used with John.

“It’s an emergency.”

Jim scowled, hands stilling on John’s head. “Make it quick.”

Sebastian gave them an apprehensive look before walking further into the room. “Jacobs has defected. He’s been taken up by Allen.”

“Allen?” Jim’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ve got people watching him, but if you want him shut up it needs to be now.”

Jim inhaled deeply and John could feel the tension running through his muscles.

“Do it. Then find his wife, cut off her ears and send them to Allen.”

“What?” John sat up.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recall asking your opinion.” Jim said dangerously.

“You’re going to cut a woman’s ears off because of something her husband did?”

“I’m going to kill her first, if that’s any consolation.”

John laughed sarcastically. “It’s not, actually. You can’t do that!”

Jim frowned. “I can. Did you forget what I do?”

Sebastian was looking at them uncertainly, not quite sure what was going on. He’d never seen the boss let anyone live this long after questioning him.

“Yeah, maybe a little.” John admitted.

“Well, there’s your mistake Johnny. Sorry to burst your honeymoon bubble,” he turned to Sebastian, “Do it.”

“Wait! Just…she’s innocent. You don’t need to do it. This Allen guy, if he’s anything like you he won’t give a shit about Jacobs or his wife.”

“It sets an example, John. Not for Allen but for anyone else in my organisation who considers switching sides.”

“There must be something else you can do. Something that doesn’t hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Jim stared at him for so long John started wondering if he’d gone too far. _Good job, John, undermine him in front of his employees. That’s not going to get you killed_.

“Sebastian, be a dear and kill Mr Jacobs and leave his body splayed over Allen’s bed.”

“And the wife?”

Jim’s eyes never left John’s face. “Forget her. Too gangster movie.”

“Right.” The gunman nodded and let himself out.

The tension hung between them for another few long, awkward moments before John decided to attempt a conversation.

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you Johnny. I did it because it suited my needs. Don’t forget that.”

John sat stiffly, sure he was going to get kicked out of the flat, but instead Jim took him by the shoulder and pulled him back down into his lap, fingers drifting back through his hair. They went back to the movie like nothing had happened, except somewhere in London there was a woman who owed John her life and would never know it. _What do you know – I’m a good influence after all_. But it rattled him enough that Jim’s hand on his arm suddenly felt a little sinister.

*****

But if he was a good influence on Jim, it worked the other way too.

They were lounging around in Jim’s bed on a lazy Friday morning. John didn’t have to be at the clinic again til Monday, so they had a whole weekend of nothing but sex and talking stretching ahead of them. He felt like one of those pathetically happy people from Hallmark commercials crossed with a horny teenage boy.

“Johnny,” Jim stroked a hand down his side, “What would you do if I said I was going to fuck someone else?”

“What?” he rolled away, stunned.

“Not by choice. It’s part of a bank robbery, very complex. One could even argue it’s all business.”

“Oh really? I don’t tend to agree with you, sorry. Not okay for my boyfriend to fuck some poor dupe just so you can help other people rob a bank!”

“I wouldn’t even enjoy it, really.” Jim pouted.

“How can you ask this?” John gaped in shock, “This is not something you ask!”

“Well unfortunately Johnny I don’t often conform to your ideas of what’s proper. I was merely letting you know to be polite.”

John sat up, fists clenching against his thighs. Jim raised a brow.

“You’re angry with me.”

“Brilliant observation. Of course I’m bloody angry with you! You just announced you see nothing wrong with cheating on me!”

“It’s not cheating, Johnny. I mean it’s not me, it’s a character-”

“How would you feel if I said ‘Oh, by the way, I’m gonna shag some guy down the pub tonight – but it doesn’t mean anything.’?”

“Try it and see.” Jim pursed his lips.

John stood and started pulling on his clothes, shaking his head furiously the whole time. Jim lay back in the sheets looking extra wanton, the lazy expression only making John madder.

“You should let it out, John. Not healthy to hold in all that aggression all the time. You’re not in the army anymore, don’t get your easy fix of socially-condoned violence. You should hit me.”

“I’m not gonna hit you.” John scoffed.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not what people do! That’s not how relationships work!”

“This is not exactly a normal relationship, John. You don’t want to hit me, fine. Break something. Smash whatever you like, throw things, let the rage out. You’ll feel better.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“You never know unless you try it.” Jim sung.

John paused, looking away. He did feel like putting his fist through something expensive and breakable.

“There’s no point. It’s an empty gesture when I know you can just buy another one within the hour.”

“I promise I won’t. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

 

John pouted before biting his tongue. _Jim wants me to break stuff? Alright_. He looked around the bedroom speculatively. There was a black falcon statue on the chest of drawers, shiny, sleek. He threw it against the bedroom door. The explosion of pottery made his heart skip for half an instant.

“Oh! There we go! Another.”

He grabbed a glass ashtray and smashed it down on the edge of the dresser, enjoying the way it splintered and cracked over the carpet.

“Show me what a brute you can be.”

Jim’s giggly encouragement only made him angrier, and he upturned a box of cufflinks over the top of the drawers. He tore the mirror off the wall, skidding it across the floor. John punched the wall, pounding his fists into the plaster over and over as he grunted and growled, blood trickling down his fingers in rivulets as he broke the skin. Hands crept around his waist; a head rested on his shoulder.

“Daddy likes it when you’re angry.”

John scowled and spun, gasping for breath. Jim was beaming up at him with his eyes bright and filled with lust. He looked at the mess he’d made of the floor and frowned, the anger leaving him.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologise. Honey, you’re living in the land of never having to be sorry now.”

John met his gaze and the deep black dared him to do something. He had territory to claim. John grabbed Jim’s arse, lifting him as his lips crashed down on the other man’s. Fingers dug into his shoulders as he took the few steps to fall back onto the bed, crushing Jim beneath him.

Jim laughed manically as hands pinched and clawed at him. “That’s it Johnny – now you’re getting the hang of it!”

 

As they lay together afterwards, John let himself be pulled into Jim’s arms.

“You’re still going to sleep with someone else, aren’t you?”

Jim didn’t answer, but as John surveyed the deep scratches covering his boyfriend’s body he felt slightly more okay with it.

*****

“Can I ask you a favour?”

“Of course.” Jim said, spooning his cappuccino froth into his mouth.

John got mildly distracted by the wisp of white foam stuck to Jim’s lips. The criminal licked them slowly, grinning smugly as John’s breath hitched at the movement.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what. I wanted to ask you something serious.”

“Alright.”

“Can you go one day without killing anyone? Just for me, just one day where you don’t make anybody die.”

“Why?” Jim frowned.

“Think of it as an experiment.”

“Oh Johnny, do you think this is going to make me see the error of my ways and reform? Because if you want a saint to fuck you could always try breaking down dear Sherlock’s walls.”

“It’s nothing to do with us, not really, just give it a go. Please? For me?”

Jim grumbled and took another spoonful. “Fine. As an experiment.”

 

 

The day happened to be one John had off, so he was lounging about Jim’s place like usual. The genius came into the kitchen, frowning slightly. He opened and closed almost every cupboard door, staring into the depths of the pantry.

“Can I help you with something?” John asked.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Alright.”

 

An hour later he joined John on the couch, the doctor tangling their limbs together.

“What are we watching?”

“The new Spiderman.”

“Uck, don’t you ever get sick of superheroes? You’re surrounded by much more impressive people.”

“I like the action.”

Jim pouted childishly but stayed quiet. John noticed his fingers had started twitching, tapping against John’s leg lightly.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Really….” He raised a brow.

“I’m fine!” Jim hissed.

 

After Spiderman they moved on to poker. Jim had played three bad hands in a row when he dropped the cards in disgust.

“Why is this so difficult? I barely ever notice who I’m killing, so why does it matter so much if I take a day off?”

John leaned forward. “Well, when was the last time you did this? Not killed someone?”

Jim looked despondent, thinking quietly. “Years, I suppose.”

“And now I’ve made you think about it and you think you _need_ it. You’re having murder withdrawals.”

Jim made a face. “I am not addicted to slaughter, Johnny.”

“Yes you are.”

He crossed his arms angrily and looked away. John smiled.

“Here. Let me help.”

He swung a leg over Jim’s lap, straddling him. The genius looked up.

“I like it so far.”

“I think you just need something more interesting - and direct - than ordering hits.”

He rested his hands behind Jim’s head, rolling his hips forward. The criminal growled.

“I could get used to this kind of persuasion.”

 

At midnight Jim grabbed his phone with a cackle.

“Haha! Now, who’s top of the list?”

“Oh no, you’re definitely not an addict.” John teased.

Jim scowled and tossed the phone on the bed. “It’s no fun if you’re going to ruin it like that.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

Jim muttered under his breath but leaned in when John puckered up.

“Just you wait, John Watson. I’ll get you back for this.”

*****

Jim always dropped John back at 221B but he rarely came up. One afternoon though John remembered he had something he wanted Jim to see, so the driver left them and the two men walked up the stairs hand in hand. When they got to the lounge room Sherlock was utterly passed out on the couch, face pressed into a cushion and drooling slightly.

“Aw, he’s so cute!” Moriarty grinned evilly, pulling out his phone to snap a picture.

“He must have just finished that case in Oldham. He’ll probably sleep for twenty hours.” John said, resettling his flatmate’s blankets over him.

“Twenty hours, hmm? Just dead to the world like that?”

“Yeah. I mean, you can usually wake him if you have to, but he’s a real arse afterwards so it’s better to just leave him be.”

He suddenly noticed the face Jim was making, the way his eyes lingered over John’s chest and torso, lower lip between his teeth.

“No. Jim, no.”

“Why not?”

“Well aside from Mrs Hudson or Lestrade or Mycroft walking in unannounced, he’s my best friend! I’m a little too old to be shagging my boyfriend in the same room as my best friend. It’s not college.”

“Johnnyyyyyyy,” Jim ran gloved hands down his chest, “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

His hands drifted lower and John gasped, his mind already half resigned to the idea of giving in.

“No. We, we can’t.”

“ _We_ can do whatever we like.”

Jim started peeling off his clothes, John’s jumper and shirt tossed carelessly to one side. John turned his head to make sure they hadn’t hit Sherlock and Jim used the distraction to slip a hand under the waistband of his pants. John almost doubled over, grabbing at Jim’s elbow.

“No.” he hissed.

“You want it, John. It’s more exciting knowing you can get caught, isn’t it?”

John took a deep breath, checking on Sherlock again. He seemed as out of it as ever.

“Fine. But try to keep it down.”

Jim chuckled and pounced, driving John down to the floor as he commandeered his lips.

 

John writhed under the skilful, quick hands pressing into him and pulling him apart at the same time, the nails tickling his shaft on each sweep and the hot, moist kisses pressed to his throat. He could feel it coming, the white spiralling sensation climbing up his spine, and threw Sherlock another glance as he bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood, hissing out a cry as he shook under Moriarty. Jim gave him another kiss and made an exaggerated ‘shh!’ motion with his hand.

“See? Good old Sherly will never know.”

“I suppose,” John inhaled stiffly, trying to get his breath back, “Knowing him he’ll probably figure it out from a hair on the carpet or something stupid.”

Jim stood and brushed himself off, waiting for John to recover and zip up his pants.

“You wanted to lend me that journal?”

“Uh, yeah.”

John ran upstairs and came back with it, pressing the magazine into Jim’s hands as he kissed him.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Count on it.”

Jim sauntered down the stairs, whistling softly and John couldn’t help smiling.

“Congratulations, John. You weren’t embellishing when you said it was great.”

He closed his eyes with a groan. “Oh God.”

“No need to look so mortified,” Sherlock stood groggily, “Your Internet history’s much more embarrassing than that little display.”

John clamped his mouth shut and went upstairs, and he didn’t come down again for almost three days.

*****

The first time John knew he couldn’t live without Jim was when it looked like that might be the case. He hadn’t heard from Jim in a day or two, which was strange, but he decided the mastermind must have something important on. It was when Sebastian called him on the third day he started to panic.

“Just wondering if the boss is with you.”

“No. I haven’t seen him since Monday. I thought he was working.”

“Uh, right,” Sebastian said and John could practically hear his wince through the phone, “I haven’t heard from him since Sunday.”

John was already on his feet. “Check the apartment right now. Call me as soon as you get there.”

“Alright.”

He hung up, imagining Jim being sunk into some manic bender state, crouched on the bathroom floor and unable to function. Or worse, the flat in ruins from some kidnapping. He refused to think it might be worse than that. John found the number and called Mycroft.

“John! How can I help?”

“Your people, they keep tabs on Jim don’t they?”

There was a pause. “Yes. We tend to maintain heavy surveillance on threats like him.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

Another pause. “Yes.”

John almost laughed with relief before realising that didn’t mean he was safe. “Where is he?”

Mycroft didn’t say anything, and by now the pauses were adding up. John had a sick feeling in his throat like his lungs hurt.

“Mycroft? Where is Jim?”

“He’s well, Dr Watson.”

“Mycroft!”

“There’s no need to worry-”

“Mycroft Holmes, you tell me where he is right now!”

“Really John, there’s no need for that. He’s in one of our interrogation rooms.”

“What!?”

“We have some questions, but rest assured you’ll get him back in one piece once we’re done.”

“You can’t do this!”

“Yes, John, I can. Whether he’s your boyfriend or not, you must remember who James Moriarty is and what he’s capable of. I’m sorry, John. I pushed you towards him. But this was inevitable.”

 

The phone went dead and John stared at the screen in disbelief. _Inevitable? Fuck inevitable!_ If Mycroft thought Jim would tell him what he wanted to know, he was gravely mistaken, and John couldn’t stand the idea of the lengths they would go to to make him talk.

He pounded down the stairs, phone still in hand. It rang as he burst in the lounge room.

“Sherlock? Sherlock? Hello?”

“John – it’s Sebastian. He’s not here.”

“I know, the government or the secret service or somebody has him. Sherlock! Look, we have to get him out.”

“I’ll ask around.” Sebastian growled.

“Do that,” John hung up, “Sherlock!”

“Is all that noise really necessary?” the detective glared, looking up from his microscope.

“Your brother took Jim.”

“Really?” he looked more interested, “They arrested him?”

“No, he said he’s being interrogated. God Sherlock, I have to get him out of there.”

“Why? Jim is a criminal, a veritable terrorist. Criminals get interrogated.”

“Sherlock! I can’t just sit here eating toast and watching telly while the British government uses their most creative tortures on the man I…I…”

“Love?”

“Yes.” John whispered.

Something in Sherlock’s expression changed. “Did Mycroft say where he’s being held?”

“Of course not. Uh, I’ve got one of Jim’s men looking into it.”

“I’m sure his connections are good, but there’s nothing like having some extra insight, is there?”

John could have cried with happiness. “Then you’ll help?”

“For your sake, yes. And because Mycroft should know better than to think this will get him anything but a headache.”

 

John gave Sherlock’s number to Sebastian and sat quietly in the kitchen while the two of them discussed the state of Jim’s flat, looking for clues as to who specifically took him. The doctor’s foot tapped against the lino impatiently, his fingers clasped over his nose. He wanted to see Jim, to feel him and know he was okay, and if John had to rip his way through a hundred of Her Majesty’s agents to do that he would. _You’re fucked. You’re jumped the fence_ , he berated himself. _No – Mycroft forced you to pick a side. Didn’t he?_

“How’s it going?” he called out, standing.

“Narrowed it down to two possible locations, waiting on my homeless network.”

John nodded, running upstairs to get his jacket and gun. He tugged on his shoes carelessly, running a hand over his hair as if it might comfort him. It failed dismally.

By the time he got back downstairs Sherlock was shrugging on his coat.

“You found him?”

“He’s at MI5.They’ve had him almost fifty-three hours.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I thought I’d have a word with Mycroft.”

“Because that always works so well!” John said, a bit hysterical.

“We can’t just storm in and snatch him back, John. We’d be hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned.”

John nodded. “Yeah, we would. But it’s not just us is it?”

Sherlock’s mouth tilted up crookedly. “No.”

 

Jim found it almost laughable that Mycroft Holmes thought a few beatings and some waterboarding would loosen his tongue. He’d been rudely surprised and mildly impressed that the agents had managed to snatch him from his flat, but everything after that had been woefully thought up. Did they really expect him to give them anything? He wasn’t afraid of anything they could do to him.

Mycroft stood patiently against the mirror as a ham-fisted six-foot-something meathead pounded him in the jaw again. Moriarty shook it off, fixing the man’s face in his memory to be dealt with later.

“Things would go much more pleasantly if you’d just open up, James. You can be on your way home within the hour if you’re a bit more forthcoming.”

Jim flicked him a lazy gaze. “I’m disappointed, Iceman. Is this the best you can do?”

Mycroft glared. “It is the least illegal. But as you are a threat to national security, I don’t think anyone will mind too much if I damage you a bit more.”

“Alright, keep trying. I’m interested to see how long your patience can last.”

The elder Holmes ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek like he’d bitten into something unpleasant.

“Leave us.”

The agent exited swiftly, closing the door behind him. Mycroft stepped closer and Jim turned his head slightly, somewhere between wary and curious.

“Of course there is someone who minds what I do to you, isn’t there? Your precious Dr Watson. He cares very much.”

Jim kept his face blank, drawing on a lifetime of playing parts to stay outwardly calm as his insides screamed.

“When did you first notice him, hmm? When he moved in with Sherlock? When his perfect shot killed your homicidal cabbie? When you abducted him and strapped Semtex to his chest?”

Jim tilted his face up but said nothing.

“You know normally I’m not in the habit of arresting innocent citizens, but I believe I could find some pretext to drag him in here. Maybe he would be more helpful.”

Jim’s lip curled. “You wouldn’t get within a block of him, Mikey. I look after my things and I don’t. Share.”

They stared at each other tensely, Mycroft’s anger clearly written on his face while Jim dared him to strike out. The first chance he got, Jim was moving Mycroft to the top of the list. Nobody threatened his John.

There was an electronic beep and the door opened. Mycroft looked over his shoulder and immediately straightened.

“What are you doing here?”

“Let myself in, hope you don’t mind,” Sherlock waved his stolen key card, “Hello Jim.”

“Sherly.” He smiled.

“I should have you arrested right now.” Mycroft hissed.

“But you won’t. Doesn’t look good for the Holmes name.”

“What do you want, Sherlock? I was rather under the impression you believed Moriarty belongs in a cage.”

“Well, yes. But I came to ask what you thought you would achieve by this. Seems like a waste of time to me.”

“I don’t consult you on government policy, Sherlock. I think at this moment Moriarty is right where he should be.”

“Sherly, I think you should know your big brother just threatened to take my favourite toy away.”

Sherlock turned disinterested eyes on Mycroft. “Oh?”

His brother’s face twisted uncomfortably. “I must use whatever is at my disposal to protect this country’s people, Sherlock.”

“Oh I see, it’s for the greater good is it? One versus the many, right?” he turned sharply to Moriarty, “Jim, do you have any of the information Mycroft is looking for?”

“One or two tidbits I might be willing to share.”

“Would you tell me please?”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Sherlock gave his brother a scornful look. “See? Manners will get you everywhere, Mikey.”

 

He stepped around the other Holmes, crouching on Jim’s left.

“Now, let’s get this straightened out.”

Two things happened at the same time, or so close together it was impossible to tell which happened first. Mycroft’s phone rang and he took a step towards the door, reaching into his pocket for it as Sherlock tugged the legs of Jim’s chair out, toppling him onto his side. Both prodigies curled their heads in protectively as the back wall of the room blew inwards, brickwork flying past their heads. Mycroft had half-spun at the noise and was blown back into the mirror, crumpling to the floor. Alarms started in the hall outside as Sherlock cut Jim’s bonds, helping him up. There was a huge hole behind them, but Sherlock righted the chair and popped out a ceiling panel.

“Coming up?”

“Certainly.”

The two of them managed to swing themselves up into the cavity and drop the panel back just as the door swung open. They could hear agents in the room below rushing to the wall, and someone asking Mycroft if he could hear them.

Sherlock tapped Jim’s knee, motioning to him to keep moving. They crawled carefully through the space around the ventilation system, climbing out when they were about two hundred metres and five corners away. They dropped into an empty office with a view of the projecting roof of the floor below.

“He’s right Sherly. You should have been pleased as punch to see me in captivity.”

“Well I’m not doing this for you or for me.” Sherlock moved to the window, pulling something out of his coat.

“It’s really lovely how close you and Johnny are. I imagine it’s fairly hard for you to make friends.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, suddenly shifting so that his hand was around Jim’s neck, “So if you get him mixed up in this battle with Mycroft or hurt him, then I will come for you, and I’m a bit more imaginative than my brother.”

Jim smiled. “Understood.”

Sherlock released him and uncapped the bottle he held, splashing it quickly over the window. The glass melted away, turning brittle enough that they could push the whole pane out. They dropped softly onto the roof below and Sherlock started running, Jim hurrying to keep up.

“What now, shimmy down the fire escape?”

“Not quite.”

A helicopter rounded the building and swooped own towards them, stopping suddenly. Someone threw down a ladder and Sherlock started up it. The noise was attracting attention, but by the time the MI5 people made it to the roof they were already pulling away, John crushing Jim to him desperately.

“Oh God! Oh, don’t you ever do that to me again!”

“Were you worried, Johnny?”

Watson slapped him. “Yes, you impossible git!”

Jim kissed him, ignoring the way they knocked into Sherlock as they mauled each other. The detective tutted and unbuckled himself, climbing into the cockpit beside Sebastian.

“You realise you’ve just committed treason, Captain?” Jim bit John’s lip gently.

“Yes. But no one else knows that, so I think we’ll be okay.”

“The Iceman’s hardly going to press charges against his own little brother.” Jim agreed.

“But will you have to go away?” John frowned.

“Not really. I can step up my security, find a new flat. I’d have to stop inviting you over though. Wouldn’t be able to come to 221B either.”

“Oh.” He said quietly.

“Johnny.”

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about taking an extended holiday with me?”

“Will you promise not to kill anyone for a whole week?”

“If you say yes, I might even agree to two.”

John smiled. “That’s a deal.”


	3. Epilogue

It was easier than John had expected for them to leave England. And in some ways, it was harder, having to leave Sherlock for God knows how long and worrying that Mycroft would get his own special vengeance on his brother. John wasn’t worried about the Iceman bothering them; he knew Jim was too protective to let the elder Holmes get even close to figuring out their location.

It wasn’t a bad spot for an indefinite holiday either. The house was cool and modern, white walls with crisp glass windows and old sun-bleached wooden furniture. It was ten steps from the living room door to the sea and when the sun set the whole side of the house lit up like Christmas.

Sebastian was with them, but he ghosted around so quietly invisible that John often forgot they weren’t alone. They spent their days sunbathing and relaxing and when it was dark and humid John would crawl into bed while Jim tended his affairs. It certainly wasn’t something John had ever expected but he didn’t mind it really.

 

They were in one of the island’s small cities for lunch, the heat bearing down almost like Afghanistan but damper, harder to avoid. The cafe tables spilled out into the street, traffic veering around them as they ate, the thick pedestrian crowd hurrying past. John left the talking to Jim and just watched, enjoying the bustle because he wasn’t part of it. He didn’t have anywhere else to be.

“You’re getting quite a tan my love,” Jim clucked his tongue, “We should be more careful.”

“I got burnt worse than this when I was serving.”

“Still, it’s me who has to look at you when you’re all pink and crusty or brown and leathery.”

John sipped his coffee and looked away, deciding not to play into that. If Jim wanted to play mother John wasn’t going to argue. His gaze swept the street and spotted a small boy sitting on a half-ruined wall, legs kicking against the plaster feebly. He was too skinny for a child that age and his eyes had that wide hungry look John had seen too often in his army days.

“God I hate that. Seeing people suffer and get by on nothing when I know back home there’s so much waste and greed.”

“There are poor people in England too, Johnny.” Jim barely glanced at the boy.

“Just makes it worse then, doesn’t it? Knowing how easily we turn a blind eye.”

Jim looked faintly amused. “Why don’t you settle the bill?”

He handed John a handful of colourful notes and sat back in his chair, playing with his spoon lazily. John shook his head again over the boy, who reminded him a little of Sherlock with his dark curls, and headed inside to the counter. He couldn’t understand the owner but he was fairly confident Jim wouldn’t ask for his change so he just thrust the whole bundle at the little man, who nodded gratefully.

As John stepped back outside and glanced at the table he realised Jim wasn’t there. He looked around, thinking maybe something in one of the nearby shops had caught his attention. The man was standing with his hands in his jean pockets talking to the boy on the wall, body blocking John’s view of the child’s face. As if he could tell he was being watched, Jim straightened and looked over his shoulder. He headed back to John, cutting across the road like nothing had happened.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing. Do you feel like a drive down the coast? I can call Sebastian to pick us up.”

“So you didn’t give him anything.”

“Of course not! Why on earth would I do that?”

“Then where’s that gold ring you put on this morning?” John smirked.

Jim glowered. “Shut up or I’ll cut off your thumbs and feed _them_ to the impoverished.”

Moriarty stalked off, John running after him with a grin.

 

They lazed on the sand by the house, waves lapping at their toes.

Jim stroked John’s hair, face tilted up to catch the sun. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you’d met me first?”

“What, before the army or before Sherlock?”

“Before Sherlock.”

“Like would I have worked for you instead? I’m not special enough for that. You wouldn’t have been interested.” He shrugged and buried his face further into Jim’s chest.

“I might have. You’re very loyal, clever, an accomplished soldier and doctor. I can think of several jobs you’d be perfect for.”

John rolled his eyes unseen. “Spare me.”

“I mean it. With your Don Juan air and your steady hands I could have had you assassinating world leaders within a year.”

“I’m not sure my ‘lust for danger’ quite translates to criminal acts.”

“Uh uh uh, my dear doctor. You’ve committed plenty of crimes in your time. You just don’t like to admit it.”

“And you’ve done plenty of nice things, but you won’t admit that.”

“I never do anything that does not benefit me in some way.”

“Liar. I know you’re all gooey on the inside.”

Jim growled, hands sliding down over John’s shoulders. “Take that back.”

“No.”

“Take it back!”

“No.” John chuckled.

Jim flipped him onto his back, straddling his legs. “I’ll make you regret that, John Watson.”

“You’re gonna try.”

Jim snarled and dove down for a kiss.


End file.
